Nightfears
by Brianna Aisling
Summary: Dreams are considered messages from our subconscious. They tell us of our hopes, our anxieties, and even our deepest fears.
1. Daria

----Nightfears----  
  
--Daria--  
  
Daria shifted the box in her hands, fumbling with the keys as best she could while still trying to hold on to it. Everything from her desk at work was in this box, the pictures of those precious few who meant the world to her, her favorite books, her favorite pens, resources, disks.  
  
It hadn't hit her yet, not quite. She knew intellectually what had happened, but like everything else from this month it was still unreal, too far away.  
  
Somehow she managed to get the right key into the lock and opened the door. Her apartment was sparsely decorated, but dirty. She used to be obsessive about cleaning. Somehow it had gotten away from her. Just like everything else.  
  
Everything else. Everything was everything else now. There was nothing in her any more. All of it was gone, just gone, like it had evaporated over night. She couldn't ever remember feeling this hollow. There had always at least been loneliness or sadness or an incredible wanting. Now, there was nothing.  
  
She hadn't even cried yet.  
  
Daria found herself listening to someone else's phone ring. She had her phone cradled up to her ear. She'd set the box down and dialed someone's number without thinking. A click.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
Daria tried to speak, but her voice was caught in her throat. He sounded so far away and so sad. Trent, his voice raspy, weary. She made a choked sound. He sighed, sadly.  
  
"Daria..."  
  
It hit her then, slamming into her with the force of a hurricane. Daria fell to her knees, sitting down hard on her heels. Tears stung her eyes, falling before she could even register their presence.  
  
"Oh, god, Trent..." she moaned. She fell forward, her forehead hitting the ground. Sobs rolled up out of her, loud and so hard to get out. They hurt. It all hurt. So much. She hunched in on herself, clutching the phone tightly. Trent made soothing noises in her ear, but his distress was still audible in his tone.  
  
"God, Trent, oh, god. She's gone, Trent. Trent, what am I going to do? She was my best friend!" Daria wailed, the sobs overwhelming her. Jane. God, how she had loved Jane. Jane who had been there. Jane who had been her friend despite everything. Jane who was her friend. Her friend. Her only friend. Gone now, forever, buried deep underground. There would be no more jokes, no more teasing, no more matchmaking.  
  
Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone.  
  
Oh, she wasn't empty anymore. But, god, how she wished she was. To be hollow had to be better than this. It hurt. Hurt so much she couldn't breathe. So much she couldn't move. So much she was dying. She'd die here, cry out her soul, sob it up.  
  
Trent was speaking in her ear, but he was far away, so far away. Like they all were. Jane was the only one who had been close. But she was gone now. That was all that mattered, that Jane was gone, gone forever.  
  
Forever.  
  
Daria threw her head back and screamed.  
  
The door slammed open causing light to flood her room. Daria reeled.  
  
"Daria, honey, are you all right?"  
  
Her mother sounded panicked. So did her father, but he was always panicked about something.  
  
"Daria?"  
  
Quinn. She sounded timid, nervous, but she was the closest. Daria felt the light touch on her hand moments after she knew to expect it. She gulped in deep breaths to calm herself.  
  
"I'm fine," she managed, but her voice was shaky.  
  
"Nightmare?" Quinn asked.  
  
Daria shrugged. "I guess. I don't remember." She pulled her hand away from Quinn's and looked at the blurs that were her family. "I'm fine now. Go back to bed."  
  
They hesitated, but still left. Daria waited till Quinn had closed the door and then inhaled sharply. Tears stung her eyes as she put her head in her hands. She swallowed hard against the sobs in her throat. For a long while, Daria tried to pull herself together. When she reached a semblance of success, Daria crawled from her bed and put on her glasses. She peeked out into the hall. Her family was asleep.  
  
Downstairs, Daria dialed a number she had long since committed to memory. The phone rang several times before its owner picked up.  
  
"Rot in hell whoever you are." Jane's exhausted voice echoed across the line.  
  
Daria hung up, a sob of relief escaping her involuntarily.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~ 


	2. Trent

--Trent--  
  
Trent jerked awake, rudely freed from sleep by heavy pounding on his bedroom door. He collapsed against his bed, groaning in frustration. It was too early to be dealing with this, no matter what time it was.  
  
"Dammit, Janey, tell them I'll be there later."  
  
His door opened, and he turned his head to glare up at his sister. He flushed guiltily when he saw it was Daria. Then he sat up, frowning. Daria's face was drawn with tightly controlled grief, and the expression set warning bells off in Trent's head.  
  
"Daria?"  
  
Her jaw clenched for a moment before she spoke. "Jane's in the hospital."  
  
Trent shot up off his bed. Fear streaked through him, and his chest constricted tightly. "What? Where? What happened?" He stumbled over the mess in his room, searching for his boots and his keys.  
  
Daria opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Instead her face twisted into a grimace of pain. She closed her mouth and shook her head. He could see her struggling against tears. He found his keys--tucked inside his boots--picked both up and headed for his car. Daria followed, sliding into the passenger seat instead of her parent's car. Whoever had driven her followed him as he shot through traffic, easily keeping up.  
  
He wanted desperately to know what happened, but he knew that even if Daria tried to tell him, chances were he wouldn't understand through the tears. Fear pounded in his veins, cold and unstoppable. His mind turned up image after image of Jane, going through every possible scenario, from the mundane to the most horrific.  
  
"Is she alive?" He had to know.  
  
"Yes." The answer was strangled.  
  
"Is she in danger of dying?"  
  
"N-not any--" Daria paused. He didn't take his eyes off the road, but he could hear her gasping, obviously fighting tears again. And failing.  
  
Trent pulled up to the hospital, parking in the first available spot. Inside he was led to a room.  
  
Jane was hooked up to monitors and devices Trent couldn't even begin to image the purpose of. What he could see of her was bruised and cut. Her eyes were closed, and her eyelashes fluttered uneasily against her cheeks. Trent gripped the bars on the side of her bed, choking back sobs of his own. He didn't know where Daria was and didn't care.  
  
"Excuse me. Are you Trent Lane?"  
  
Trent turned. An older man in a white coat stood next to him.  
  
"Yeah. Who are you?"  
  
"I'm Dr. Morrisson. I'm Ms. Lane's doctor."  
  
Trent ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. He had to calm down. Had to get the fear to go away. He needed to think clearly. Jane needed him, more than she had ever before. He had to get it together. It wasn't coming. His thoughts were scattered, like hens when the fox is finally noticed. Trent squeezed his eyes closed tighter. 'Get it together, man.'  
  
"Mr. Lane?"  
  
His eyes snapped opened. "Yeah? What?"  
  
"Are you Ms. Lane's guardian?"  
  
"Well, I mean, our parents, but they're..." Where they hell were they? 'Dammit, Trent. Focus.'  
  
Daria stepped in then, her gaze cool, her demeanor the calm he was trying for. "Their parents are out of the country and often hard to find. Trent is the closest you are going to get for a guardian."  
  
Ill-concealed disdain laced her voice. Trent blenched, stung. He was trying his best. He just needed a little time. This was his little sister here. God knew what had happened to her. Did they really expect him to not be affected by this?  
  
The doctor regarded Trent closely. He frowned, wrinkles forming on his forehead and around his eyes. He turned back to Daria, lowering his voice, but not enough to keep Trent from hearing.  
  
"I think you should try to get a hold of them. Is there anyone else we could try to contact?"  
  
Daria looked thoughtful. "She has two older sisters and another older brother. They'd probably be better than Trent. Although I don't know how I can get a hold of them either."  
  
Trent felt as if he'd been kicked in the gut. Daria didn't trust him to take care of Jane? Didn't she know how much Janey meant to him? He'd practically raised her for crying out loud!  
  
"Hey!" he growled angrily, fisting his hands by his sides. "I can take care of her!"  
  
Both Daria and the doctor turned ice-cold looks on him. Daria raised an eyebrow.  
  
"You?" she snorted. "You can't even take care of yourself, Trent. You're twenty-five, living in your parents' house, no job, and wasted dreams." She laughed, the sound hard and mocking. "Look at yourself, Trent. You're wearing the same clothes you wore two days ago. She needs someone responsible." Daria snorted again, looking at him contemptuously. "You'd probably kill her."  
  
Trent reeled. His mouth opened and closed uselessly. It hurt, almost as badly as seeing Jane lying there. He could take of Jane, he could. He had when she was little...but there was a ring of truth in Daria's words. One that he couldn't ignore. He watched, helpless, always fucking helpless, as Jane slipped from his fingers and was buried beneath tubes and wires. He reached out to her, calling her name. Tears stung his eyes, and his chest heaved.  
  
"Janey!"  
  
Icy water splashed down across his chest and lap, causing Trent to jerk upright, gasping in shock.  
  
"What the hell--"  
  
Jane stood at the end of the couch, a smirk curving her lips, an empty glass held in one hand.  
  
"Sorry, Trent." She smiled widely, everything in her voice and body language contradicting the apology. Trent growled under his breath and pulled off his shirt, wiping at the dampness left on his skin.  
  
"That was fucking cold, Janey."  
  
"Like I said, sorry."  
  
He rolled his eyes and stood up to go change. He paused before he reached the stairs though and turned to face Jane.  
  
"Jane?"  
  
"Yeah?" She raised an eyebrow at him. It was rare that he called her Jane.  
  
He fidgeted with his shirt. "You know...you know that I'll take care of you, right?" He looked up at her, his expression pleading and slightly melancholy. "I mean like if something serious ever happened. You know that, right?"  
  
Jane blinked, the amusement fading. "Trent?" she asked, uncertain.  
  
He sighed. "I just--I wanted you to know that I'll be here, Janey. I'll always take care of you. I mean it."  
  
She smiled at him suddenly, looking like she was six again. "I know, Trent." Her tone became teasing. "Of course, I take better care of you."  
  
Trent chuckled. "That you do, Janey. That you do."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
blanch--to pale  
  
blench--to pull back; to wince  
  
See what you learn when you read the dictionary? 


	3. Jane

--Jane--  
  
Michael kissed her deeply, his arms wrapped tightly around her, his caress warm and tender. Jane sighed blissfully. He chuckled, and she pulled back.  
  
"What?" she asked playfully, tugging on a lock of his hair. He regarded her fondly.  
  
"Jane, Jane, my not-so-plain Jane."  
  
Jane smiled. She loved him and his light-hearted teasing. She was leaning in for another kiss when she noticed the time. She pulled back again.  
  
"Oh, crap. I'm late. Daria's gonna kill me!"  
  
Michael whined, half-heartedly tugging on her. "Stay...please..."  
  
"I can't." Jane separated herself from him and then leaned down and kissed him briefly on the lips. "I'll see you later," she whispered huskily. He grinned and watched her disappear out his door and into her car.  
  
Jane hummed to herself as she drove home, occasionally breaking out into song at the top of her lungs. Life was good. Better than good. Michael was wonderful. He loved her and only her. She could already see them getting married. And to top things off, Daria seemed to approve of him-- without any interest in him romantically.  
  
Jane climbed out of her car and practically skipped up the walk to the front door. She opened the door and started to call out when a low sound caught her attention. She listened for a moment and then made a face, disgusted. Trent had a girl over, and they were going at it on the couch. 'Ick! Note to self: NEVER sit on the couch again.' Jane shuddered and started to head up the stairs.  
  
"Oh, Trent..."  
  
Jane froze. She knew that voice. She spun to see Daria's head appear over the back of the couch. Daria didn't see her, focused instead on Trent. Daria's head disappeared. Jane continued to stand there, her mouth hanging open dumbly.  
  
"It's about time Jane got the fuck out of the house," Trent grumbled. Jane's mouth snapped shut at the harshness of his words and tone. Her mind reeled with the implications of that sentence.  
  
"I thought she'd never get out of here," Daria agreed.  
  
Jane growled low in her throat and reached out to smack on the lights. Daria and Trent reared up off the couch. Neither one seemed particularly surprised or shocked to see her. Jane trembled in anger as Daria languidly pulled Trent's shirt over her head. Trent watched her hungrily before slipping on his boxers.  
  
"What. Did. You. Mean. By. That," she ground out. Trent turned his attention from Daria to Jane.  
  
"Mean by what?" he asked.  
  
"That it was time I got out of the house!" she shrieked.  
  
"Oh. That. Well, it is. I mean, Christ, Janey, I had to put up with you when you were an annoying little brat that couldn't wipe her own ass. Then I had to put up with you and your 'the world sucks' attitude. A guy needs his space. I've been waiting for you to move out since you were born."  
  
"Exactly," Daria agreed again. "And now, since you're gone, I can move in." She laughed gleefully. "And I don't have to pretend I'm your friend anymore."  
  
Jane jerked backwards. Her mind felt numb. "What?"  
  
Trent rolled his eyes and addressed Daria. "Dumb fuck, isn't she?"  
  
Daria smiled at him. "Sure is. I don't know how you put up with her for nineteen years. I could hardly manage four!"  
  
Jane stared at them, trembling, unable to get things straight in her head. Daria and Trent were her closest friends. They couldn't mean what they were saying. This had to be a bad dream. That was it. A bad dream. Nothing more. Jane pinched herself. Nothing happened. She looked up to see that Trent and Daria were kissing each other again, already deeply lost in their own desires. Her mouth fell open. It was real. It was fucking real.  
  
Hot anger mixed with stifling pain shot through her chest and out through her veins. Oh, no fucking way were they going to get away with pulling this shit on her. She lunged for them both, but the world blackened around her.  
  
She woke, trembling, on the floor of the basement. She was stripped naked and a heavy metal ring encircled her neck.  
  
"Damn, that's pitiful."  
  
Jane jerked upright. Tears streamed down her face. "Daddy! Thank God you're here. They locked me up and they kept mocking me and Trent let his friends--" She broke down in sobs. Her father rolled his eyes.  
  
"Christ, Trent. How do you keep her quiet?"  
  
"We usually shove someone's cock in her mouth."  
  
Jane huddled in her corner, trying to keep the memories away. She moaned quietly to herself again and again.  
  
Then, a quiet, little voice spoke in her ear, a familiar voice, Daria's voice.  
  
"That's right, Lane. Cry. Cry all you want. Your tears are your only friends. You're all alone. All alone, now and forever."  
  
Jane's eyes snapped open.  
  
She sat up and stared into the darkness of her room, breathing heavily. She slid from her bed and stumbled toward her light switch, tripping over something in the darkness.  
  
"Ow!"  
  
Jane fell against her wall heavily, managing to flip the light on before she slid to the floor. She sat against the door, staring at Daria as she sat up and rubbed her shoulder.  
  
"Jane?"  
  
Jane didn't respond. She just sat there panting, trying to separate reality from dream. She watched as concern lined Daria's features and, when she spoke, her voice.  
  
"Are you all right, Jane?"  
  
"Nightmare," Jane said shortly. She watched as compassion flitted across Daria's face, along with a small amount of restrained fear. Jane frowned, leaning forward slightly, knowing Daria couldn't see her clearly enough to make out her facial expressions without glasses. She realized that Daria had stopped rubbing her shoulder and was now hugging herself, the action completely unconscious. Jane let out a breath and leaned back against her door.  
  
"It helps," she said cautiously, "to have company."  
  
Daria's relief was almost palpable. Her arms dropped to her sides, her hands resting in her lap. She smiled slightly at Jane and gave a small nod to show she agreed and understood. Jane stood up and flicked off the light.  
  
"Night, Daria."  
  
"Night, Jane," Daria mumbled. Jane smiled into the darkness and got back into bed, careful to not step on Daria this time. She lay on her bed, easily drifting back to sleep. Part of her wondered if Daria had caught the second meaning to her words. Another part knew she had. They were different, very different, but deep down, they were more alike then either one realized.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
A note on the crudeness of Jane's dream.  
  
At their basest levels, Daria and Jane share the same fear, being alone. The difference in how this fear is portrayed comes in the differences between them. Daria views the world both intellectually and emotionally. She is not a physical person. In the five seasons of the show, Tom is the only person she has physical contact with (that isn't hitting). Because of this it is going to be an emotional and intellectual separation from that person or persons. The who is easy. Jane is the only person she has an emotional attachment to. That's not to say she doesn't love other people; she does: her family, Tom, and Trent, first romantically and the platonically. Jane however is the only one she exposed herself to as well as fought to keep from losing. The how is also easy. What is the most permanent loss a person can go through? Death.  
  
Unlike Daria, Jane is a very physical person, mostly when it comes to the opposite sex. She has no problem sneaking off to the laundry room with a boy at a party. She understands and appreciates the physical part of life. Instead of being intellectually and emotionally geared to the world, she sees things emotionally and physically. Her dream, of course, would portray that orientation, a fact we see in her interaction with Michael. We see the world as it would be best for her, a boyfriend and Daria accepting it. Her fear of being alone is portrayed through Daria and Trent, the ones to whom she is the closest, admitting, rather gleefully, that they've been putting up with Jane until they could be rid of her. Not only do they inform her of this, destroying two valuable relationships, but they are involved in an intimate physical action, sex, when she first discovers it. In the first part of the dream, she's emotionally stripped of the intimacies of her relationships. Then, in the second part, she's stripped of physical intimacies. Not only has the intimate part of physical affection been taken away by her being violated, it has been taken away by people she cares for: Trent, the band (Trent's friends in the story; saying 'the band' would denote a closeness to them which she wouldn't have after being raped by them.), and, by implication, her father, who in this fic serves as representation for her entire family since fathers are the traditional heads of the family. The final blow is from Daria herself, telling Jane that she's always alone now. 


End file.
